The Dead Lie Down Read Online Free PDF Page A

question, Ruth, but . . . have you told Aidan that Mary Trelease isn’t dead?’
    ‘Yes.’ I start to cry. I can’t help it. ‘I’ve told him over and over. I’ve told him until my throat’s sore and my voice is gone.’
    ‘And how does he respond?’
    ‘He shakes his head—he looks so certain . He says she can’t be alive, because he killed her.’
    ‘You’ve had this conversation many times?’
    ‘Hundreds. I’ve told him where she lives. He could go to her house and prove to himself that she’s still alive, but he won’t. He won’t go and see for himself, he won’t take my word for it—I’m getting desperate.’
    Charlie Zailer taps her pen against the side of her face. ‘What you’re telling me is very odd, Ruth. Do you realise how odd it sounds?’
    ‘Of course I do! I’m not stupid.’
    ‘How do Aidan and Mary know each other?’
    ‘I . . . I don’t know.’
    ‘Brilliant,’ she mutters. ‘Are you sure Aidan isn’t having you on? He didn’t tell you on April Fool’s Day, did he?’ Seeing my expression, she straightens her face and says, ‘When did he tell you? Where were you, what was the situation? I’m sorry, Ruth, but this story is too way out for me.’
    ‘We were in London. It was last year, December the thirteenth. ’
    ‘Any particular reason you were in London that night?’
    ‘We . . . we went to an art fair.’
    She nods. ‘Carry on.’
    ‘We were in our hotel. It was late. We’d been out for dinner and got back about half past ten. We went straight up to our room and . . . that’s when he told me.’
    ‘Out of the blue? With no warning, just, “Oh, by the way, I’ve murdered someone”?’
    ‘He didn’t say murdered. He said killed. And, no, it wasn’t out of the blue. Aidan was upset. He said he didn’t think our relationship was going to work unless we . . . unless he confided in me, but he obviously didn’t want to. I could tell he was dreading it. I was too.’
    ‘Why?’ Charlie Zailer leans forward. ‘Most people don’t dread being confided in by their partners. Most women, especially, would be gagging to know. Did you have reason to believe Aidan might have committed a violent crime?’
    ‘No, I . . . no. None.’ Most women. She is talking about people for whom the word ‘secret’ means a tantalising prospect, not a source of anguish.
    ‘What exactly did Aidan say?’
    I close my eyes. ‘He said, “Years ago, I killed someone. I killed a woman. Her name was Mary Trelease.” ’
    ‘ “Her name was Mary Trelease”?’ Sergeant Zailer looks puzzled. ‘So he said it as if she was someone you’d never heard of, then? He didn’t know you knew her?’
    I should have anticipated this question. My mind starts to churn. ‘I don’t know her.’
    ‘ What? ’
    ‘I don’t know Mary Trelease.’
    ‘Then . . . Again, Ruth, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m being slow here, but if you don’t know her, how did you know she was still alive when Aidan first said he’d killed her?’
    She wouldn’t believe me if I told her. Still, I’d risk it if I thought I could say the words without bringing my first meeting with Mary to life again, as if it was happening now. Even thinking about telling the story makes me feel hot and panicky. I stare into my half-drunk tea, squirming, wishing she’d ask another question, but she doesn’t. She waits. When I can no longer bear the silence, I say, ‘Look, all you need to do is check that she’s alive. She lives at number 15 Megson Crescent . . .’
    ‘On the Winstanley estate?’
    ‘Yes, I . . . I think so.’ I can’t appear too certain, having claimed not to know her.
    ‘Megson Crescent is a contender for the title of roughest street in Spilling. Most of the ground-floor windows are boarded up.’ Sergeant Zailer raises an eyebrow. ‘Ms Trelease is a struggling artist, I take it? She can’t be making much money from her painting if that’s where she lives.’
    I feel a hysterical laugh rising